Bang Bang
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Rabastan's just a hitman, off to fetch an important briefcase for an ordinary job. But when his partner gets shot by an angry Andromeda in a tattoo parlour, his day takes a turn for the crazy. Spandex, strip clubs, and Luna Lovegood in bed with a mystery partner. Need I say more? Inspired by Pulp Fiction.


**For Bex - Happy belated birthday**

'Who steals a very important briefcase from a very important person, and then goes and gets a tattoo?' Rabastan asks, checking his hair isn't getting windswept in a bad way as they zoom down the street.

'Dunno, man,' Evan replies, keeping his eyes on the road. Rabastan has been banned from driving due to the aforementioned hair-checking.

He doesn't mind. It means that he gets to do the shooting.

'I mean, think about it,' Rabastan continues, staring at his own unblemished, tanned arm. 'Don't tattoos take ages to do? Who does that?'

'Maybe the tattooist is just _that_ good.' Evan shrugs. 'Hard to find good ones these days. Last time, I got kicked out half-way through because she belonged to the Harpies. Nightmare to find someone to finish it.'

Evan has a full sleeve of roses creeping up his arm. People used to make fun of it. Those people are dead.

Rabastan shrugs in return, looking out of the window. 'Hey, is that the place?'

Evan turns for the first time.

'Shit, yeah it is!'

The car tires screech as Evan pulls onto the pavement, doing a U-turn that would make any professional proud. Unfortunately, the other cars don't see it that way, and they receive a burst of profanity and car horns honking.

'Not as discreet as I would have liked,' Rabastan notes.

'Yeah, well,' Evan replies, tucking his .44 back into his belt, 'you can't always get what you want.'

Rabastan opens his mouth to reply and closes it again. Rosier has a point.

* * *

Inside the parlour, it's easy to find their man. Riddle described him as big, but Rabastan thinks that doesn't do him justice. With his shirt off, Rabastan can see drawn lines of pure muscle, and he is under no illusion that the man could crush him in a heartbeat. He keeps a respectful distance, his pistol trained on the man's back as Evan places a foot squarely on his spine and shoves.

The man goes careening to the floor, gravity working against him. Other clients let out yells of fright, though the tattooist is nowhere in sight at the moment.

'Listen up, big guy,' Evan yells. 'Play time's over, you hear me? Where is it?'

'Where's what?' the man asks, completely nonplussed.

Rabastan's impressed with his acting skills.

'You know where's what!' Evan yells again. 'Where the hell is the briefcase, tough guy?'

'I don't know nothin' 'bout no briefcase,' the man replies. Rabastan notices that his tattoo is starting to ooze a little. He wonders if that's bad or if it's just normal. He wouldn't know.

'Look, me and my buddy here? We don't have time to waste. So you either tell me where the case is, or Imma shoot you straight in the nuts. If that doesn't work, my friend here's going to shoot everyone in this room until you tell us what's what.'

'But we didn't do anything!' a woman shouts angrily.

'Sorry,' Rabastan says, giving her his best disarming smile. 'Wrong time, wrong place. But you can't make threats and not go through with them. It's bad for your reputation.'

Suddenly, the door bangs open to reveal a man so tall that he has to duck under the eight foot doorway. Rabastan realises with trepidation that when Riddle told him the target's a "big" man, he may have meant in height, not girth. Rabastan turns his gun on the newcomer, but before he can get out a single shot, the _rat-tat-tat_ of a semi-automatic sounds out, and the acrid smell of smoke wafts towards Rabastan's nose.

 _Shit_ , he thinks, and that's all he has time to think of. He never wanted to go down in a firefight; he was hoping he'd have a little more class than that. But when the screaming dies down and the smoke clears, he's somehow still alive.

He checks his body for wounds — you never know how much the shock dulls the pain — but his suit isn't even ruffled. There's a bit of dust on his tie, so he brushes it off, and then he shares a glance with Evan.

Evan clearly thinks this guy is a complete idiot.

'Who the fuck are you?' he asks, but before the man can reply, Rabastan's shot him in the chest. No point waiting for the giant to reload for a second try.

Evan shrugs and turns back to the first man.

'I swear, I don't know anything!' the man cries out again, and Rabastan's starting to believe him.

Evan shoots at the equipment above the man's head, just in case he's lying. The man starts crying, and another shot rings out. For a minute, Rabastan thinks Evan's jumped the gun, but the sound of crying continues.

Evan slumps to the floor, the gun falling from his lifeless hands, and suddenly Rabastan's feeling like he's no longer in control. He hates that feeling, but he turns around slowly with his hands held up and sure enough, there's a woman leveling her tiny .22 at his head.

He drops his gun.

'Your friend ruined my stuff,' she says, and Rabastan notices that her voice is soft, cultured, and he immediately wants her to keep talking.

'Sorry about that,' he says, and it's true. He doesn't really want to ruin anyone's life, so long as they don't get in the way.

'That's going to take me years to replace. I'm out of a business, and you're to blame. Any last words?' she asks, her grey eyes flashing angrily.

Rabastan doesn't want to die — he's had enough of that for today.

'What if I can get you the money to replace it?' he asks quickly.

She cocks her head to the side, her brown locks tumbling across her shoulder. Rabastan wonders what it would be like to run his hands through her hair. Would it be soft, or as hard as the woman beneath?

'We were on a job to recover something important for our boss,' he says. She stares at him. 'Tom Riddle,' he prompts, and he sees recognition in her eyes.

'Your boss is a psychopath,' she says, but she lowers her gun and he thinks he's got a chance.

Rabastan moves to the man in the doorway, noting that the rest of the mysterious tattooist's customers have taken the opportunity to flee. Quickly patting down the man's pockets, he finds a small black mobile — most likely his burner. Turning it on — there's no password — he skims through the recent messages. The man on the floor appears to call himself "Big D", for reasons that seem fairly obvious, but unfortunately for Rabastan, it seems as though he's already dropped off the briefcase somewhere else.

 _That explains why he's so keen to get a tat after a hit,_ Rabastan realises. Big D was probably going to get the case back when the coast was clear.

'Shit,' he says as he realises they made it to the parlour before the man they were hunting. He hates being so unprofessional.

'What?' the woman asks. She keeps her distance, still wary, but he sees the curiosity in her eyes.

Instead of replying, Rabastan shows her the latest texts.

'Ready to go to Madam Malkins'?' he asks, fully expecting her to say no.

'A strip club,' the woman says drily, her eyes scanning the phone. 'Well, it's not like I've got a choice if I want to get repaid.'

Rabastan grins.

'Know how to drive?' he asks, fetching the keys from Evan's body. A pang runs through his stomach at the sight of his colleague. But Evan knew the rules of the game. And Rabastan never liked him much anyway.

* * *

'We need to make a stop here,' Rabastan says suddenly, pointing towards a parking lot.

'Why?' his companion asks, but she turns on the indicator anyway, crawling to a perfect stop between two cars.

'I have the feeling "Lovegood" isn't going to play nice,' he says. 'Guns only get you so far.'

The woman frowns, but follows him as he walks down the street.

'The name's Rabastan, by the way,' he says, stopping to stick out his hand.

She doesn't shake it.

'Oh, come on,' he says, giving her his best smile. 'I can't go on calling you "woman".'

'Andromeda,' the woman says reluctantly. 'But if you think I'm shaking the hand of a murderer, you can forget it.'

'Actually, you're the murderer,' Rabastan says conversationally, sticking his hand back in suit pocket. 'Since you killed my colleague and all.'

'Circumstantial,' Andromeda replies, not even batting an eyelash. Rabastan likes her even more.

'Whatever lets you sleep at night,' he says airily, coming to a halt. 'Here we are.' He opens the door and gestures. 'After you.'

'A sex shop?' Andromeda's mouth drops open, and she loses her composure for the first time since Rabastan met her. 'You're taking me to a sex shop?'

'Well, of course,' Rabastan frowns. Why do people never think of the bigger picture? 'We need a cover, and the best way to do that is to pose as a client and a performer. How else would you get an overview of the room?'

'And just out of curiosity,' Andromeda says, as he starts to browse the aisles, 'what would you have done with your old partner?'

Rabastan shrugs. 'It didn't come to that, though, did it?'

She falls silent, and he inwardly congratulates himself on his victory.

Eventually, he happens across what he's searching for.

'Aha!' he says in triumph, holding up a strip of gold sequined material. 'Here we go. Try it on.'

'Are you joking?' she asks incredulously, looking at the skirt in disgust. 'I'm not wearing that!'

'It's a skirt, Andromeda,' Rabastan replies with a sigh. 'It's not going to hurt you. Do you want to rebuild your shop or not?'

Andromeda eyes it distastefully before turning her head away.

'No,' she says. 'I didn't get away from that family of mine only to get sucked back in.'

'That family?' Rabastan asks, before his voice trails off. He didn't notice at first, but now that she mentions it, he starts to see the similarities. 'You're Bella's sister.'

Andromeda sneers.

'Why did you leave?' Rabastan asks curiously. The Blacks are one of the richest and most influential families in town — Narcissa is married to Riddle's right hand man and Bellatrix is his best agent.

'Because there's more to life than buying secrets with sex,' Andromeda says abruptly.

'Sure there is,' Rabastan replies, going to the counter and paying for the skirt and sparkly body lotion anyway. 'But it's a good means to an end.'

'What end?' Andromeda asks on their way out. 'You're just a servant for another man.'

'I do what I want, and I get paid for it,' Rabastan retorts. He glances over at her, at her beautiful face and tattered clothes. 'You could have the world at your feet if you weren't so uptight. Are you going to let something like clothes get in the way of your life, when you're ready to kill for it?'

At that, Andromeda falls silent. Rabastan shakes his head. People and their morals. Something he would never understand.

* * *

'Sorry, only dancers allowed at this entrance,' the bouncer says, flexing his muscles.

Rabastan's hand twitches towards his pocket, but he manages to reign it in. No point in having to clean up spilled blood in alleyways just yet. Besides, Andromeda has found some makeup in her bag, and her dramatically winged eyes make them look more stunning than ever. With the glitter and the skirt, Rabastan has no doubts as to whether she'll be popular with the crowd.

'Ma'am, you'll have to pay the fee at the entrance just like everyone else.' The burly man looks at the ground, nervously cracking his knuckles.

'Sorry, did you just call me _ma'am_?' Rabastan asks, affronted.

'I was referring to the lady,' the bouncer says, nodding towards Andromeda. 'Even if this club belongs to the Harpies, you still have to pay like everyone else. It's just good business.'

Rabastan closes his eyes for a second as Andromeda lets out a peal of laughter. How could he have forgotten? The Harpies lair, a.k.a _Madam Malkins_. The strip club where only male dancers are allowed to entertain the all-female gang. Any accompanying women have to be vetted by a gang member.

He can see why the bouncer thinks Andromeda's one of them. Tattoos cover her skin, and she's lean and dangerous in a predatory sort of way. She didn't hesitate to shoot to kill, and that kind of thing shows in your eyes.

'It's only clothes, handsome,' Andromeda whispers in his ear as she shoves the skirt and makeup in his arms, her lips curving in a cruel smile. She raises her voice. 'See you inside.'

Rabastan watches her walk away, trying to preserve what masculinity he still has.

'They won't wait all night, you know,' the bouncer reminds him, and Rabastan has half a mind to shoot him right there and then.

 _You've got a job to do_ , he reminds himself. Narrowing his green eyes, Rabastan runs his hands through his hair and steps through the doorway.

* * *

Rabastan steps onto the stage with all of the confidence a hitman can muster when he's wearing a short sequined skirt and his gun is way too close to…way too close to _him_ for comfort. It was that or leave it in the dressing room, though, and the ladies seem to be enjoying the illusion anyway.

Andromeda has front row tickets, and she winks at him and jiggles the ice in her whisky for him to dance. She appears at ease with the crowd, surrounded by gang members, and for a second, Rabastan wonders if she's part of the Harpies too.

Getting gunned down in a tattoo parlour is starting to look like a good way to go.

Instead, he dons the sexiest smile he can and struts up to the pole, puts one hand above the other and swings. His sharp eyes take in the other dancers, assessing which moves he can imitate and which ones are too advanced, all while making sure his glittery skin catches the light.

He will never admit it, not even to his brother, but he's actually enjoying himself.

After five minutes, he slips off the stage to strut among the crowd, flirting with the ladies and keeping an eye out for someone named "Lovegood". A hand slithers around his shoulder, a wad of twenties splayed out on his chest.

'How much does it cost for a dance around here?' a seductive voice purrs, and it takes him a moment to realise that it's Andromeda.

This time, he can't keep the shock from his face and the tattooist laughs.

'Nicked the money in the car,' she says. 'Shame there wasn't enough to cover my expenses, or I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.' She takes a moment to look him up and down, as if eyeing the latest slab of meat at the butcher's. Rabastan shivers. 'Then again, I would have missed out on this lovely show.'

'I'd be happy to share a room with you anytime,' Rabastan says with more confidence than he feels, pulling himself together in this room of dangerous women, 'but I have a job to do.'

'Lovegood's over there.' Andromeda jerks her head to the left, the playful demeanor gone. 'I need to pay you if we have any hope of getting out here alive.'

She shoves the wad in his skirt, and Rabastan's glad the lighting is too dim to see the expression on his face. He follows her up the stairs, discreetly removing his gun and checking the ammo.

The moment Andromeda stops, Rabastan takes charge. Straightening his skirt, he kicks in the door, rolling through the room in case anyone's armed. She follows suit, closing the door behind her in case anyone else comes up.

A woman with long blonde hair that seems to float around her sits up in the king-sized bed, her blue eyes struggling to focus.

'Stop right there, blondy,' Rabastan tells her, levelling his gun at her face. 'We don't want any funny business. Just to retrieve what's ours.'

'Is it yours, though?' she asks defiantly. Shapes move around under the covers, but she stops them with a hand. 'Does it belong to anyone?'

Rabastan's got to hand it to her; she's got guts. Still, business is business, and he's already gone through enough for this paycheck.

'Doesn't matter,' he says. 'You give it to me, or I put a bullet through your skull.'

The blond gives him a look. 'I'm not afraid of death.'

'Wrong answer,' Rabastan replies, and pulls the trigger. A shot rings out, but hopefully the music downstairs will mask the sound.

Blondy slumps back into the bed, unmoving.

'Now, is anyone going to help me with this, or does a man have to do everything himself?' Rabastan asks the duvet.

'It's in the bathroom,' a muffled voice says, not daring to emerge. 'There's a hidden panel behind the toilet.'

'Thank you,' Rabastan says, clicking the safety back on. 'That's all I was asking for. A bit of help, a bit of respect.'

'No problem,' the voice replies.

Rabastan looks to Andromeda, who keeps her gun trained on the bed. Those guys won't be going anywhere. He nimbly jumps over the fallen pillows and peers into the bathroom. Sure enough, there are some loose tiles.

'Gotcha,' he says, pulling out the infamous case and running back into the bedroom. Andromeda nods at him, and they start down the stairs.

'Now all we need to do is get out here in one piece,' he tells her.

'Oh, I don't know,' she replies, her lips quirking into a grin as she takes out a security guard. 'That skirt could get left behind.'

* * *

 **QLFC - Captain prompt: Pulp fiction. Inspired by the briefcase, the hitman, the general tone and the sexy lady.**

 **Hogwarts - Assignment #12: Muggle Studies - task 4: write about someone dangerous.**

 **Gift Giving Extravaganza - Rabastan/Andromeda, Muggle!AU, Tattooist!AU**


End file.
